


Starchild

by MudDog



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, But more hurt than comfort, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, The non-con is not between Yugyeom and Mark, but it's just implied, not a fluffy fic, pity poor Yugyeom, you should probably also pity Mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-06-22 00:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15569922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudDog/pseuds/MudDog
Summary: One hundred years ago, a plague wiped out three-quarters of the galaxy’s female population. To save the species, scientists modified the human genome so that some men could carry children.In the present day, Yugyeom lives and works on the Tuan family’s starbase, serving as personal guard to the beautiful heir, Mark Tuan. On the surface, everything seems lovely, but Mark’s family is headed towards financial ruin, Mark himself seems impossibly unattainable, and he’s soon to become literally unattainable as the date of his wedding looms nearer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Please read the warnings. There is no explicit, violent non-con in this story, but there _is_ non-con, and there is also dub-con. If you think either of those things might bother you, please do not read this. Also, as hopefully the tags communicate, this is not a fluffy story. If you only like to read things where everything works out for all the major characters, you are not going to like this story.
> 
> If you have read all the tags and warnings and want to read this anyway, hurray! Please let me know what you think. The second part (in which things actually happen) is almost done and should be coming soon.

“I could tell the duchess you’re sick,” Yugyeom offers, trying not to tread on Mark’s heels as he follows him down the corridor. It’s a bleak corridor, all cloud-colored plastic and lights that, while intensely white, manage to exude the off-putting impression of greenness. The starbase’s central heating system regulates the temperature in all public spaces, so the corridor, in theory, should be no colder, and yet Yugyeom’s arms erupted with goose bumps not a second after they passed through the sliding doors. Even Mark looks less than stellar, and, if that is not testament to the corridor’s horridness, Yugyeom doesn’t know what is.

“She won’t believe it,” says Mark, tone and face flat. He’s been virtually expressionless since the night before last; Yugyeom is beginning to worry it might become permanent. “Even if she does, they’ll only push it back a day or two. Why delay the suffering?”

This is a very un-Mark-ish thing to say—Mark is all about delaying suffering—and Yugyeom is not quite sure what to do with this new, emotionless version of his charge. He tries to imagine what Jaebum might say, but all he comes up with are grunts and gruff assurances that things will work out, and, while Mark might accept that from Jaebum, Yugyeom is quite sure he would sound foolish were he to try the same.

The sliding doors loom large ahead of them. They’ve almost reached the end of the corridor. After that they’ll be in the guest wing and it will be rude for Yugyeom to speak, so, if he’s going to say something, he has to say it now.

“Mark,” he begins, though he doesn’t know where he’s planning to go with it. “I… I’ll be there. In the room.”

“I know,” Mark says. His voice is still flatter than the floor they’re crossing, and Yugyeom’s ears feel hot despite the corridor’s temperature, but he doesn’t regret saying it. He thinks Mark understood. “No more talking now.”

Yugyeom nods. They’re passing through the sliding doors into the warmer, wider, and darker corridor that serves as the entrance hall to the guest wing. Yugyeom has been here several times before, but it is the first time it feels like marching headlong into the mouth of some giant celestial beast, and he sticks a half-pace closer to Mark for the remainder of their journey to the meeting room.

It is their guest, Minseok, Baron of Se’atuin, who chose the room, and, stepping into it, Yugyeom initially believes the man must have made a mistake. The room is quite small, no more than four meters across, and rather than a conference table and chairs there is a rosy pink sofa curving around three-quarters of the room. In the middle sits a low, shiny-topped coffee table. Both it and the walls are gray, but the table is several shades lighter, almost white. The entire atmosphere is too soft for negotiation.

“Mark,” says the taller of the room’s two occupants, bending into a shallow bow. “It appears you’ve been well since we last spoke.”

Yugyeom has caught glimpses of the baron’s hologram before, but this is the first time he has met him in person, and the hologram failed to capture the glint in the man’s eyes when he looks at Mark. Yugyeom’s stomach tenses. As Mark steps forward to return the greeting, Yugyeom straightens, lifts his chin, and squares his shoulders. Unless he detects some threat against Mark, he is to stay by the door without moving or speaking, but nobody told him he couldn’t attempt to look menacing. The baron’s guard stands stiff as a corpse on the other side of the doorway. He is older than Yugyeom by at least a decade and appears to have twice the muscle mass, but Yugyeom is not too concerned. He is taller, and, if it comes to a fight, he will devote himself ten times more fiercely.

“On behalf of my mother, welcome to our starbase,” says Mark, returning the bow.

The baron’s smile doesn’t waver, but Yugyeom is sure he noticed the wording. Mark has never made it a secret that he is against their engagement.

“Please send your mother my thanks,” Minseok replies evenly. “I hope to welcome the both of you to my own humble base next week.”

A chunk of ice drops into Yugyeom’s stomach, and, though it isn’t visible, he can feel Mark stiffen.

“I’m sure my mother will appreciate your generosity,” says Mark, “but perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves. It seems premature to set the date when we have yet to finalize the terms of the arrangement.”

The baron’s smile spreads. “Let’s sit,” he says, motioning towards the pink couch.

He waits for Mark to lower himself onto the leathery surface and then takes the space directly beside him. He is too close, and Yugyeom shifts his feet a bit to remind the man that he is there watching.

“I think you will find,” says the baron, withdrawing a folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket, “that the duchess has already negotiated a very fair… arrangement.” He begins to spread the sheet out on the coffee table, but Mark plucks it from his fingers before he can finish.

Both Yugyeom and the baron watch his eyes skim over the lines. As before, he has next to no expression, but when he sets the sheet down he asks, “Do you have the rest of the paperwork with you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” says the baron, though he does not appear at all confused. “That _is_ the paperwork. I’m sure you noticed the duchess’s signature at the bottom.”

“I’m sorry,” says Mark flatly, “I mistook it for a synopsis. Perhaps practices have changed since the last deal I reviewed, but I would think it typical to have at least three dozen pages for an arrangement of this magnitude.”

The baron leans back into the couch, his arm sliding along the cushion that rests behind Mark’s shoulders. “This isn’t a business deal, Mark,” he says, a note of superiority slipping into his tone. “Marriage agreements never exceed a page or two. Nobody wants to pick over fine legal points with their future relatives; it would set the wrong tone.”

“To the contrary,” says Mark, “I take great pleasure in picking over fine legal points. For instance…” He plucks the paper back off the table and reads, “ _Both immediate parties shall do their utmost to provide for the other’s needs._ I’d like to include a more precise definition of ‘needs,’ or at least name the body that will settle disputes regarding its definition, and I think ‘utmost’ should be qualified.”

The baron pinches the edge of the paper and wiggles it out of Mark’s fingers, setting it back on the table. “Mark,” he smiles, the hand that took the paper, the one that isn’t resting on the back of the couch, settling just above Mark’s knee, “let’s talk. And let’s be frank. You don’t want to marry me. I believe everyone involved in arranging the terms of our marriage is aware; you have been less than discrete. However, married we shall be, and we shall be married for a very long time, so I think it is somewhat inconsiderate to everyone waiting to hear the final terms to continue dragging this out. Further delay will only increase the tension between our families, which is entirely contrary to the marriage’s intended purpose.”

“I am sorry if I am alienating your relatives,” says Mark. He does not even glance at the hand on his leg, as if he is pretending it is not there at all. “But if you did not want the process to drag, you should not have come with an agreement you knew I would never sign.”

“How could I have known you wouldn’t sign it? Your own mother signed it. Be reasonable, Mark.”

“My mother is ignorant of several key pieces of information, and everyone involved in arranging the terms of our marriage is aware that she wants it settled as quickly as possible. She has been less than discrete. My mother has neither the context nor the patience to read into your wording. So, let’s be frank. We’re going to be married for a very long time. If you want there to be any chance that that marriage is a pleasant one, come back with terms I can accept.”

For the first time since they entered the room, Yugyeom feels the baron’s eyes slide in his direction, and then the baron retracts his hand from Mark’s leg. “If you’d like to discuss our past encounters, I believe we should do so in private. However, if it is not clear, I do regret the decisions made by my younger self, and I have been attempting to prove to you over the past year that I am not the same man. Evidently, I have not been particularly effective, but I swear I did not draft the agreement in bad faith. I would like this to work, and I think it has the potential to work well, but only if you are willing to at least make an effort to put the past behind us.”

“I will put the past behind us when I have reasonable cause to believe it will not impact my future, and I will begin to believe that when you rewrite the agreement.”

The baron sighs but slides several inches away from Mark and then takes the paper from the table. He refolds it as he stands. “I’m sorry that you have so little faith in me,” he says. Though there are few people Yugyeom trusts less than the baron, he at least sounds sincerely regretful. “I hope in time that will change, but for now I relent. I will do what is necessary to ensure that our marriage moves forward.”

Mark dips a shallow bow from the couch before standing. “Thank you for making the journey,” he says. “I look forward to seeing you again once you have revised the terms.”

The baron reaches for Mark’s hand, and Mark, with his pristinely blank face, allows the man to lift it and press his lips against the slender, white fingers. “Until next time,” says the baron, and Yugyeom thinks he catches him squeeze Mark’s hand before he releases it. The movement is too subtle for him to be sure. Then the baron straightens fully, his demeanor hardening as he strides towards the door. “Come, Hyunsik.”

His guard detaches himself from the wall, and together they sweep from the room, taking an immediate right to head deeper into the guest wing.

Mark stands by the couch for a second longer, completely still. Then he turns towards Yugyeom and nods. They take a left, back the way they came, and Yugyeom is unduly relieved when they emerge from the guest wing, even though it puts them once more in the horrid corridor.

“You really told him,” Yugyeom says once he is allowed to speak again. He loves watching Mark negotiate; he gets so fierce. “But do you think he’ll rewrite it properly?”

Mark’s head turns slightly towards him, and Yugyeom can see his lips twitch up. It’s not a full smile, but he seems to have emerged from his zombie state. “If he wants me to sign it, he’ll have to. I’m sure he’ll try to slip something in there, but, unlike my mother, I have no problem dragging this out.”

Yugyeom bobs his head in agreement.

He knows why the duchess wants it tied up. When they emerge from the horrid corridor and diverge from the main walkways, it is clear that the starbase has crumbled into a state of disrepair. There are scratches in the walls, and the floors are made of Genimian hybrid steel, which the Galactic Agency for Scientific Research announced two decades ago contained toxins rendering it unfit for human proximity. Some of the side corridors have had to be sealed off entirely due to confounding gas leaks or insulation failures. Mark’s room, which is where they are headed, appears at first glance like the room of any noble child. It is sufficiently large; the floors have been redone with Arnu-Alu hybrid steel; the bed is wood-framed, and a diamond star map glows from the ceiling. The only other decoration is a portrait of the duchess that hangs over the head of the bed, but minimalism is in style, and what little decoration there is is expensive. Yugyeom, however, is not deceived by the facelift. Underneath their light blue paint, the walls have bowed outwards due to the periodic failure of the starbase’s pressure control system. The bed has been positioned to cover a rather large stain left by a broken water pipe, and the star map (without doubt the most lavish feature) has lost two of its diamonds in the decades since its construction.

The Tuan family is one of the Supreme Seventeen, the oldest noble families in the galaxy. Few can match Mark for name or pedigree. But even middling merchants surpass him in wealth. It is a poorly guarded secret that the Tuans are broke. Rising seas swallowed many of their holdings on Earth, and their five most profitable mining planets were destroyed when the star Uopi supernova-ed two decades back. Coupled with poor luck in investments, the family has been losing money steadily for the past century.

The Yus, the baron’s family, are the East to the Tuans’ West, and their sun is rising. Having bought their title, they possess not a single drop of noble blood, but they’re drowning in money, and it appears that they are now willing to buy a connection to the Supreme Seventeen as well. Hence Mark’s impending marriage.

There’s another element to the arrangement that no one but Mark and Minseok fully understands. Yugyeom has always known that Mark both dislikes and distrusts the baron (which is cause enough for Yugyeom to dislike and distrust the baron), but whatever happened between them happened before Yugyeom became Mark’s guard, so he does not know the specifics. Of course, he has his suspicions. If the way the baron looked at Mark and touched him today is any indication, their former relationship was not strictly platonic.

Thinking about it makes Yugyeom’s throat burn, so he tries not to.

It helps that they are in Mark’s room now, separated from the baron by a quarter mile and at least three locked doors.

Yugyeom turns a bit too slowly as Mark begins to strip out of his formal wear, and he catches the slide of Mark’s shoulder blades moving beneath the pale, bare skin. A wave of saliva floods his tongue, and he tries to swallow it silently. Though he is now facing the wall, he can still hear the soft floomps as various articles of clothing collapse to the floor, and he tries not to guess which ones they are, which bits of muscle and skin would now be exposed were he to turn back around.

“Have you talked to the kitchen girl at all?” Mark asks, startling Yugyeom and making him feel as though he has been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

His face heats, and he says, “Which kitchen girl?” though he knows exactly who Mark means.

“The one you were telling me about. The one who always smiles at you. I’m dressed by the way. You can turn around.”

Yugyeom does, eyes latching immediately to the strip of Mark’s stomach visible before he tugs his shirt all the way down. He yanks his gaze up to Mark’s face as fast as he can, but he knows Mark noticed. Or maybe the tiny smile is about the kitchen girl. Her name is Jimin, not that it particularly matters. Yugyeom pictured what it might be like to kiss her when he first noticed the smiles, but he could only imagine it being weird. Forced. He is under no illusions about who it is that he wants to kiss. He is also under no illusions about its possibility. Mark is two years older, a thousand times fairer, and a social class above. He is also engaged to be married. Even three meters away, he is lightyears from Yugyeom.

“Oh,” says Yugyeom, “that one. I mean, I said hello when she said hello.”

“Do you _want_ to talk to her?”

“Not really,” says Yugyeom. “She works in the kitchens. All she’ll want to talk about is onions.”

Mark shakes his head, smile wider, though it still hasn’t broken open to show teeth. “I thought you were less judgmental than Jaebum. Who wants to talk about onions?”

“Exactly,” says Yugyeom. “Listening to noble people gossip is much more interesting.”

“Excuse me,” says Mark, “do I gossip?”

“Sometimes,” says Yugyeom. “You tell me all about your brother’s and sister’s fights, and you tell me about Jaebum’s girlfriends, and, when you and Leo talk, you complain about your mother. The only person you don’t talk about is you. I still don’t know why it is that you hate Minseok.”

Mark turns towards the wall behind his bed, so Yugyeom can’t see his expression anymore, but his voice retains its light teasing quality when he says, “And you won’t.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Yugyeom tenses, his mind shifting into his muscles, assuring himself that they are ready for action should it be necessary. He looks to Mark, who nods.

Yugyeom crosses the room in three strides and says, “Who is it?” in his lowest tone. He knows he has a high voice, and it makes him sound even younger than his actual age, which, at seventeen, isn’t all that impressive. It isn’t until people see how large he is that they get antsy.

“Mark?” says the person on the other side of the door. The voice is somewhat distorted by the metal, but not to the point that Yugyeom can’t identify it. He flicks the door switch.

Leo stands on the other side. Even if Yugyeom didn’t know, it would be obvious that the boy is Mark’s relative. Their noses are almost identical, as are their eyes and eyebrows, and there is something about the shape of their heads that also rings of shared DNA. However, Leo is an inch taller, and everything about him is rounder. His cheeks have a bit more fat; his forehead is broader; his shoulders slope at a steeper angle and end in arms that are both thicker and softer. His coloration is also different. It is the curse of the old noble families to suffer the effects of centuries of inbreeding. They are frequently sickly. Mark is rare in that, on him, the pallid hue of the skin looks ethereal, as if he is a true child of the stars. His brother is not so lucky, and his nose is always colored an unfortunate blotchy pink. Leo is objectively not unattractive, but compared to his brother he might as well be a slug.

“Leo,” Mark exclaims.

The warmth in his voice sets Yugyeom’s ribs clacking, chattering out their envy, but he makes sure to keep any trace of it off his face as he steps aside to allow Leo entrance.

Leo sprint-walks across the room towards Mark, and Mark’s arms part for him. When they collide and wrap about each other, they do not let go for several long seconds.

Yugyeom prevents himself from glaring at Leo’s back and instead turns his eyes to the portrait over Mark’s bed. It usually makes him uncomfortable. It is a rather austere depiction of the duchess, and Yugyeom feels that the woman’s black eyes stare particularly harshly when he is having impure thoughts about her son. But now he imagines it is Leo who falls under her stony gaze, and for once he feels allied with the portrait.

Finally, the brothers part.

“I didn’t know you’d returned,” says Mark. He is smiling, showing teeth, and Yugyeom’s ribs renew their clattering.

“Just now,” says Leo. “Less than ten minutes ago. According to the Chois, this week is a holiday, so they sent me home.”

“What holiday is that?”

“No idea. It probably has something to do with the year as a digestive cycle, and now we’re at some crucial moment, like we’ve passed the stomach without getting dissolved. They’re a weird bunch, and they’re more obsessed with eating than anyone I’ve met. Everything revolves around food.”

Mark’s smile bunches to the side, and he prods Leo’s upper arm. “That could explain this.”

“Hey!” Leo frowns. “I’m not fat! Wait until you meet Youngjae’s mom.”

“What do you think, Yugyeom?”

Yugyeom’s muscles jolt. He wasn’t expecting to hear his name, but, at the same time, the clattering between his ribs settles into a low vibration more like a purr. “Definitely one too many pork buns,” he says, keeping both his face and voice flat.

Leo’s frown deepens, but, before he can defend himself, he is interrupted by another knock at the door, this one more insistent than the last.

Mark again nods, and Yugyeom growls, “Who is it?”

“Kunpimook,” says the voice. “It’s Kunpimook. Is Leo there?”

Yugyeom lets him in without waiting to hear what Mark wants. He isn’t interested in helping them play the hiding game.

“Leo,” Kunpimook sighs, his relief obvious. “The duchess wants to see you in the dining room.”

Leo turns his frown on his unfortunate guard. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“Can it wait five minutes?”

“No, sorry. She was… very clear on that point.”

Leo sighs and turns back to Mark, spreading his arms to give him another hug. “I’ll come back afterwards. I have a lot to tell you about the Chois.”

Mark nods. “Good. Now go see what mom wants before she comes marching up here.”

Kunpimook is clearly relieved when Leo turns to go, and he shepherds him quickly out the door. It closes behind them automatically.

“You should sleep,” Yugyeom says as soon as the whir of the locks has fallen silent. “I can tell Leo to wait a few hours when he comes back.”

“No, I should talk to him. It’s been six months since we saw each other face-to-face.”

“You hologrammed every week.”

“It’s different. And Leo’s a physically affectionate person. You know that.”

“He’s seventeen, not five. He can survive a couple hours without touching you.”

Mark shakes his head and goes about straightening the covers on his bed. When Yugyeom catches a glimpse of his face, he’s smiling. At other times, Yugyeom would be pleased, but, at the moment, it irritates him. He wants to be taken seriously.

“You indulge him too much,” he says.

“He’s my brother.”

“I’m not the one who needs reminding,” Yugyeom grumbles.

Mark’s eyes snap to his face. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Mark does not look away. His gaze is piercing, and he lets it pierce Yugyeom for several silent seconds. When he finally speaks, it is to say, “Should _nothing_ again cause you to assume such a sour expression, I’ll insist upon knowing what it is.” He stares for a half-second longer before resuming the slide of his palms over the covers, but his fingers move more slowly, pressing out the wrinkles with a tight determination.

“You’ve never liked Leo,” Mark says after a moment.

Yugyeom observes him carefully, but Mark is still straightening the bed in a business-like fashion, not looking at Yugyeom or leaving any clues.

“I don’t dislike him,” Yugyeom says at last. It’s not quite true, but it’s the sort of lie that is indubitably better than the truth.

Mark tugs out the last wrinkle and straightens. His eyes flick back to Yugyeom. “He isn’t your rival, you know.”

Yugyeom isn’t sure what to make of that, so he says, “I know,” and snaps his head towards the blue wall to escape Mark’s gaze. Perhaps Mark doesn’t know how Yugyeom feels, in which case he wouldn’t understand that Yugyeom must compete with Leo for time and attention. But Yugyeom doesn’t think that’s the case. Mark is intelligent, and Yugyeom is obvious—it’s unlikely that Mark doesn’t have at least some inkling of Yugyeom’s attachment—which leaves the stomach-tingling question: what _did_ he mean? Was he saying that Yugyeom was the only horse in the race? Or was Leo playing in a league above?

Why did Mark always have to be so cryptic?

The atmosphere in the room is still a bit odd when, thirty minutes later, the duchess arrives. Unlike Leo and Kunpimook, she doesn’t knock. All the doors in the starbase are programmed to open for her, so she just strides in with the force of a hurricane and sweeps her dark eyes over Mark’s space and possessions as if they are her own. Yugyeom earns no more of her attention than the wardrobe.

“What happened?” she demands, eyes fixing on Mark.

Leo comes trotting up behind her, panting slightly, with Kunpimook and the duchess’s own guard on his heels.

Mark, who was sitting at the head of his bed reading, closes his book and stands. He slips into his cool diplomatic demeanor as smoothly as diving into a pool. “I presume you mean with Baron Minseok.”

The duchess’s only response is to raise a slim eyebrow. She stopped in the center of the room when she entered, and she and Mark stand facing each other now with Yugyeom against the wall to the side and all the others behind the duchess.

“The agreement wasn’t acceptable to me,” Mark says. “I told Minseok to revise the terms and return, at which point, if they meet my expectations, I will sign.”

“You do understand why this marriage must go forward, don’t you?” says the duchess, her voice still sharp.

“Yes,” says Mark, “and it will go forward once the terms are acceptable.”

“I read the terms, Mark. They were perfectly acceptable, more than acceptable. Minseok’s family has been more than generous both in their financial commitment and in their patience. Dragging our feet is disrespectful and casts a sour tone on the whole proceeding. You know I want what’s best for you, but I’ve reviewed this carefully. There’s nothing sinister about the deal. Please just sign it.”

Yugyeom wonders if this will be the moment that Mark finally cracks and explains whatever it was that happened between him and the baron all those years ago, the reason that he doesn’t trust the terms. Yugyeom hopes he will, and not only because he is curious; the way the duchess talks to Mark has always made his skin itch.

But Mark does not explain. He says, “A week or a month isn’t going to substantially worsen our financial situation, and a week or a month is nothing compared to the years I’ll spend in Minseok’s household. I’ll have plenty of time to earn his relatives’ forgiveness. But my marriage is for life. Can we please take that extra week or so to make sure it’s airtight?”

“I understand, Mark,” says the duchess, her voice still clipped but no longer accusatory. “I do, but what’s to stop a week or a month from turning into six months or a year? I have to set a deadline, and it has to be soon before the Yus start looking for other options. So I’ll give you two weeks. Negotiate terms. Hide in your room. It’s up to you, but after two weeks I expect you to sign whatever deal is on the table.”

Mark dips his head.

The duchess nods back, and then she spins about and sweeps from the room. Her guard hurries to follow, but Leo and Kunpimook stay.

“You’re getting married?” Leo asks. The door hasn’t even finished closing. “You never said anything.” He sounds hurt, and it is probably an indication of Yugyeom’s post-death destination that this warms his chest.

“I’ve been avoiding it,” says Mark. He appears to be staring at the wall behind Leo, and he isn’t blinking.

Leo is silent for a moment, but he evidently decides that, between the two of them, Mark deserves to play victim, because he crosses the room and leads his brother back to the bed. They sit down beside each other.

“A century ago, we wouldn’t have had to worry about this,” Leo says, squeezing Mark’s shoulder. “Isn’t that odd to think? Before the plague only girls would’ve had to suffer, but now it’s us Type Bs who get the short end of the stick. _And_ the girls, I guess, but I have a hard time picturing anyone connected to mom lying down and taking that sort of thing.”

A bit of Mark’s smile returns. “You realize that we’re more closely related to mom than almost any woman.”

Leo just looks pleased that Mark is smiling. “You know what I meant.”

Mark stays silent and lets himself be squeezed. Yugyeom tries not to frown.

After a minute, Leo loosens his hold and asks, “Was there actually something wrong with the terms, or do you just want to put it off?”

“I know I’m petty,” says Mark, shoving Leo away, “but I’m not _that_ petty. There’s a lot riding on this deal. I wouldn’t just delay it.”

“So what was wrong?”

Mark’s lips bunch together. “The wording was too vague,” he says at last. “I don’t want there to be any loopholes.”

“So meticulous,” Leo smiles. “I forgot what a nitpicker you are while I was away, but I guess you can’t help it, living with mom. The Chois are so relaxed about everything. It’s basically impossible to be stressed. Which reminds me, I have a ton of stuff to show you in my room. Do you need downtime, or do you want to come drown your sorrows in some of the Gray Planet’s finest spyte syrup?”

“Spyte syrup? Do I need to be feeling spiteful?”

It’s cringe-worthy, but Yugyeom is glad Mark’s in a frame of mind to make jokes. That is, until he realizes Leo is beaming.

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Mark says, straightening. “Let’s go.”

They head towards the door, Yugyeom and Kunpimook trailing behind, but Leo stops as soon as they reach the corridor.

“Um,” he says. “I know you probably haven’t been in my room for a while, but it’s pretty small. Maybe…” He flicks his head meaningfully in Yugyeom’s direction.

Mark turns to look at him, and Yugyeom, unable to make the expression he wants to make, tries to communicate through his eyes how he feels about the suggestion.

Either Mark doesn’t get the message or he chooses to ignore it. “I suppose one guard is enough. You can stay here, Yugyeom. I’ll probably be back tonight, but, if I end up deciding to stay at Leo’s, I’ll send word.”

Yugyeom probably imagined the tiny quirk of Leo’s lips, but he’s going to blame him for it anyway. He bows and watches as the trio walks off, down the long straight stretch of the corridor, and then around a corner and out of sight.

Yugyeom makes a rude hand gesture.

When he turns to head back into Mark’s room, he finds Jaebum standing there, leaning against the wall. They hold eye contact for a second before Yugyeom has to look away.

“You should get over that,” Jaebum grunts.

Yugyeom should accept the admonishment in silence, he knows, but the urge to defend himself is too strong. “He’s obnoxious,” he grumbles. “I’m not even his guard and he’s trying to tell me what to do.”

“Not Leo. Mark.”

A weight sinks in Yugyeom’s stomach, and he hangs his head lower.

“He’s leaving,” Jaebum continues. “You should distance yourself now. Give it a month, and you’ll be fine.”

“A month?”

“Six months.”

Yugyeom hesitates, considers making up some chore to do so he can avoid this conversation, but, in the end, he goes to stand beside Jaebum, mimicking his slumped posture against the wall. “You and he never… Right?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Jaebum tells the empty expanse of corridor in front of them. “Don’t you remember the adage about knowing your place?”

“Which one?”

“ _Before reaching for the heavens, remember that the stars burn._ ” He pauses to let Yugyeom absorb it before saying, “I thought you liked adages.”

“I do, but I never know when to apply them.”

“Ah well,” Jaebum shrugs. “ _The wise learn from history; idiots learn from their mistakes._ ”

“Are you saying I’m stupid?”

Jaebum shrugs again. “I don’t like that one. It should be: _The wise learn from history; the common man learns from his mistakes. Idiots never learn._ ”

Yugyeom swallows and stares into the same void of space Jaebum has been watching.

“Forget Mark,” Jaebum says. “Go talk to the kitchen girl.”

“Mark told you about the kitchen girl?”

“Aren’t you the one who called him a gossip?”

“When did he even have time to tell you that?! Do you two text? Are you sure you never…”

“Would you give up if I told you we did?”

“Did you? I’m serious right now. Don’t mess with me. Did you?”

“No. You know I don’t actually have any interest in men.”

“Was he into you, though?”

“Yugyeom, forget Mark.”

“Just tell me if—”

“Forget him. Seriously, forget him. Think about the adages. Go talk to the kitchen girl.”

Yugyeom frowns, and Jaebum sighs. “I have to get back to work,” he says, but he doesn’t immediately leave.

“Go,” says Yugyeom. “I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t.” But this time Jaebum really does leave, and Yugyeom is left to stand alone in the corridor, waiting for someone who might not be coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, firstly I need to apologize because I think I said initially that the second chapter would be up in a week or so and here it is over six months later. I am a horrible flake; have mercy.  
> As my first post of 2019, I am also going to say 'Happy New Year!' and ignore the fact that it is basically April.  
> Finally, thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, and to anyone who is still reading this despite my sloth-like pace. You brighten my days! And now you may read the depressing conclusion to this piece to bring yours down.

It’s two days later that the duchess summons Mark to the dining hall. Yugyeom can see how, fifty years ago, it might have appeared lavish. The ceiling is high and arched, veined with iron filigree to mimic fan vaults, and mandala-like mosaics decorate each of the hall’s four corners. However, without proper repairs, and with the base’s pressure fluctuations, the filigree has twisted, the ceiling sunk, and mildew has begun to colonize the grout between the tiles. Most telling is the overwhelming impression of disuse that seems to emanate from the very air. The starbase is a shell of its former self, and, in contrast to the dozens who may have once used this room, only the duchess dines here now.

When Mark and Yugyeom entered, she was seated at a tiny circular table at the far side of the room, but she stands as they approach.

“You usually come to me when you want to talk,” Mark says once they are near enough to the table. “Are we meeting someone else?”

“No,” says the duchess. “I summoned you because I wanted to talk here. You know I’ve been taking note of all the things to fix after the wedding, but there are so many in this room.” She frowns at the walls, the ceiling. “I’ve been coming here for days, and there’s no end to it. The lights, the mosaics, the vaults… The dent in that corner has bothered me since I first noticed it at age twelve.”

Mark’s posture has tightened since she started speaking, and his tone, though shy of accusatory, is not quite neutral when he says, “The marriage is going to happen. You’ve already given me a deadline.”

“Let me finish,” says the duchess, unperturbed. “I was going to say that, though I’ve hated that dent since I was twelve, now that it’s come to it, I have a hard time picturing the room without it. The same goes for the ironwork. I’ve realized that there are corridors in this starbase I’ve never seen. I’ve lived here my entire life, and there are places no human has touched in that time. It needs to be fixed, of course. The whole thing will collapse on us if we don’t fix it, and nostalgia is a waste of time, but… I’ll miss it.”

“Mom…”

“I’m still not finished.” She takes in an audible breath, but, rather than draw herself up, she seems to deflate, settling into her diminutive stature. “What I actually called you here to tell you is that Minseok contacted Leo.”

Yugyeom can feel the air around Mark’s body freeze. The edges of the cold prickle along his arms.

“I don’t know exactly what was said,” the duchess goes on, “but from what Leo told me, the baron conveyed your reluctance; Leo read the contract, determined that there wasn’t much to quibble over, and signed it. They’ve set the date for this Saturday.”

The silence echoes off the walls.

“I need to talk to Leo,” says Mark stiffly.

“I encourage you to do so,” the duchess sighs. She looks tired for the first time in Yugyeom’s memory. “You know Minseok better than he does, and I imagine he’ll want your support. But please don’t talk to him about backing out. It will only upset him, and he’s already signed.”

Mark continues to stand stiff as a board. The duchess lays a hand on his shoulder, but it has no effect, and after a moment she sighs again and, with a last brush of her fingers against his shirt, turns away.

Once she is gone, Mark spins and marches in the opposite direction. Yugyeom, of course, follows, and the echoes of their footsteps clatter back at them from the walls until they are outside with the doors fully shut. Mark takes the first staircase up, but then, rather than turning right towards his brother’s room, he takes a left.

“You aren’t going to Leo?” Yugyeom asks.

“No,” says Mark. “Better to treat the cause than mitigate the symptoms.”

Yugyeom thinks he knows what this means. There is an ache in his right knee as they climb, and he wonders if it’s possible to have aged noticeably in the past minute; he feels decades older than even the duchess. Mark is marching with his head high, but they are headed towards defeat.

The holoroom is dark and empty when they arrive, and Mark leaves Yugyeom to turn on the lights, striding straight to the scan pad. The scanner buzzes as it comes to life, an indication of its age; all the modern technology is silent.

“Call the baron,” Mark says.

Yugyeom has already begun typing in the code, but he can’t stop himself from saying, “You don’t have to.”

Mark doesn’t answer, and Yugyeom forces his finger to press the hideous gray confirmation button.

He aligns himself towards the projector, which Mark is already facing, and the two of them stand in still silence. It feels as if time has been suspended, as if they are actors waiting for the curtain to rise for a play that neither wants to perform. The tones that vibrate the air as the call goes through are flat.

A moment later, blue light snaps into the dark space above the projector and settles into the shape of the baron’s head.

“Mark,” the head smiles, eyes flicking up and down. “I suppose you’ve heard the news. Did you call to congratulate me?”

Mark ignores both the question and the lighthearted tone. “You win,” he says. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I want your brother.” The semi-transparent, blue-tinged projection of the baron’s lips twists to the side. “He was much more willing to sign the agreement than you were, and willingness is something I look for in a partner.”

“Is it?” says Mark. “Since when?”

The baron’s smile doesn’t falter. “I think you’re taking the wrong tone, Mark. You’re the one who wants something from me; not the other way around.”

“We both want things from each other,” says Mark. “You don’t want my brother.”

“I don’t know,” says the baron. “He looks a lot like you.”

“Minseok, I know you don’t want him, so stop wasting time. What do you want me to do?”

The baron sighs. “All I want is for you to sign the initial agreement. I’ll shred Leo’s as soon as I have the replacement in hand.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “Done,” he says. “You left an extra copy with my mother, didn’t you?”

“I left five,” says the baron, smile returning. “I plan ahead.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard,” says Mark. “I look forward to making the rest of your life miserable.”

“I look forward to watching you try,” says the baron. “Make sure my emissary gets that paper by six AM tomorrow. He has an interbase shuttle to catch.”

Mark ends the call and spins out of the room with the violence of a small tornado.

Yugyeom, of course, follows. There is a lot to say, but Yugyeom has no words to say it. ‘Let Leo hang’ wouldn’t go over well with Mark, and ‘I’m sorry’ would be hollow, or perhaps too much like a funeral. They are both angry, but Yugyeom doesn’t think Mark wants to be reminded how much he hates the baron, and he isn’t a good enough liar to force out the words, ‘It will be okay.’

All he can do is walk by Mark’s side and let him know with his silent presence that, for as long as Mark remains on this starbase, Yugyeom will be there.

They track the duchess down to the smaller of her two studies. It’s a dark room, paneled in faded mahogany and lined with shelves of old-fashioned books and artifacts from the long-past age when the Tuans lived on Earth. Yugyeom almost never comes here, but, each time he does, he finds himself captivated by a particular porcelain serving bowl that rests stoically on the second highest shelf. The surface is so smooth that it almost seems to glow. It reminds him of starlight, and of Mark’s collarbones after he’s bathed.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” the duchess says, dragging Yugyeom’s attention down and away from the bowl. She’s seated behind her desk, bony hands folded atop an array of papers that are almost certainly financial documents, and the imposing, velvet-lined chair she occupies makes her look small and fragile. Her eyes, black and hooded and fixed on Mark, betray her age. “You didn’t talk him out of it, did you?”

“I didn’t talk to him at all,” Mark says, expression and posture stiff and business-like. “Do you have a copy of the unsigned contract?”

The duchess scans her son slowly, unblinking. “Why?”

“Give me one.”

A moment of tense silence passes before the duchess reaches down and retrieves a sheet from the desk’s smallest drawer. Carefully, she extends it to Mark.

He steps forward and grabs it, eyes flying over the writing. Yugyeom and the duchess both look on like statues as Mark snatches a pen from the duchess’s iron holder, slaps the paper onto the desk, and signs.

The scratch of the pen tip grates against Yugyeom’s eardrums, horribly loud, but the silence that follows is almost worse.

Mark tosses the pen back into the holder and straightens, and all three of them stare at the foot of the paper where Mark’s name now gleams in drying black ink.

“You talked to Minseok,” the duchess says. It’s somewhere between a statement and a question.

“I did.”

“Do you want to tell Leo yourself?”

“No. You tell him. Please. I have to deliver this.”

But he doesn’t move.

The duchess stands slowly and walks around the desk to stand in front of Mark. Somewhat jerkily, she lifts her arms and folds them around him.

Yugyeom looks away.

A minute later, maybe two, the distinctive thump of Mark’s footsteps stirs the dead air, and Yugyeom turns to find him already at the door. The duchess doesn’t say anything as they leave, but she stays standing, watching, and her back bends slightly forward as if part of her is attached to Mark, following him out of the room.

Yugyeom follows him all the way to the guest wing. The light in the connective corridor seems greener than last time, the air colder.

Minseok must have notified his emissaries about the change of plan because there is a man waiting outside the rooms reserved for the baron’s people. He watches them walk over without moving from his half-slouched position by the door, and it so horribly disrespectful; Yugyeom hates him immediately. He is probably a decade older than Mark, but he is both a lower rank and a guest in Mark’s home, and he doesn’t even have the decency to straighten his posture, much less bow. Mark makes no comment on the breach of etiquette. He holds the paper out to Minseok’s man, who lets Mark stay there for a long moment as he looks him up and down before taking it. Yugyeom can’t tell if the look is appreciative or critical, but either is offensive. He feels that he has somehow failed his job as a guard to let this happen, but he also can’t work out, looking back, what it was he did wrong.

When they are out of the guest wing, the urge to speak becomes unbearable. “Mark,” he says, but again finds that he has nothing to say.

Mark looks at him, seems to realize there is no follow up statement, and says, “We still have three days.”

Three days is seventy-two hours, four thousand and thirty-two minutes. Every one should count, but here they are walking in silence back to Mark’s room, where they will presumably do nothing, and Yugyeom can’t even think of anything to say.

 

 

Yugyeom probably should not have listened to Mark when, three hours ago, he asked him to steal a bottle of Schiantzwen from the kitchens. It is the eve of Mark’s wedding, and it will be a dark stain on his reputation if he turns up to the ceremony hungover. But Mark had looked so very wretched, and Yugyeom knew Jimin was on shift and would hand him the bottle with no questions asked, so he’d done it.

Now Mark is lying heaped at the top of his bed, the bottle on the floor over half empty. There’s a flush to his cheekbones that isn’t usually there, and Yugyeom, who somehow feels drunk vicariously through Mark, is finding it increasingly difficult not to stare.

“I won’t do it,” Mark says, and Yugyeom is surprised at both the stability and venom of his voice.

He nods, even though he knows Mark doesn’t actually mean what he’s saying. He would never let Leo take the fall for him, though Yugyeom certainly wouldn’t object if he did. It’s drunk rambling; tomorrow Mark will be up and dressed in the traditional garb, ready to take his vows.

“He can have my body and my title and my dignity, but I refuse to let him contaminate another lifeform. I won’t do it.”

Or perhaps Yugyeom has misunderstood what it is they’re talking about. He hesitates before asking; debates whether it is a good idea to add fuel to the fire. Then again, it might be the last time anyone bothers to listen to Mark’s response. “Won’t do what?”

“Heirs,” Mark spits at the wall. “Children. I won’t have his children.”

Yugyeom swallows. It is something he has been trying very hard not to think about… the baron on top of Mark’s delicate body, stretched out on the bed that they will share. He is positive the marriage agreement insists upon heirs, but it makes him sick. The idea of something of the baron’s growing inside Mark is repulsive.

But it also dredges up one of the old questions, one that remains unanswered. “Why do you hate him?”

He shouldn’t be asking when Mark is drunk. The metallic tang of guilt has already begun to pool on the back of his tongue, but it’s too late to withdraw the question now, and part of him doesn’t want to.

It takes Mark a long moment to reply. When he does, his voice has lost much of its heat. “Tomorrow night won’t be the first time.”

Yugyeom suspected as much. The confirmation still makes his muscles itch.

“When he visited before,” Mark goes on woodenly, “he tailed me around everywhere. I thought it was cute, even when Jaebum warned him to stop and he didn’t. He followed me to my room most nights, and I’d let him in for a bit. To talk. We just talked. He’s very smart, you know. At that point, I thought charming as well. Jaebum was always there, of course.”

Yugyeom can’t tell where Mark is looking. Not at the wardrobe. Not at the wall. What he sees is probably the room how it used to be, the last time the baron was here, and the same part of Yugyeom that was glad he asked the question desperately wishes he could see it, too. The other part wishes Mark would stop talking, or that Yugyeom could shut his ears so he wouldn’t hear.

“One night,” Mark says, the words dragged out like burs, “Jaebum’s grandmother slipped and cracked her pelvis. He said he’d see her later, but I told him he should go. Minseok was already there, in my room, and, when Jaebum left, he didn’t want to talk anymore. And what I wanted didn’t matter. Thank god it was the wrong time of the cycle then.”

Yugyeom realizes he is biting his tongue when the tip of one of his molars breaks the surface. The sudden taste of blood is sharp and bitter, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation seizing his gut, something tense and hot and knotted. He suspected. He always suspected. But to think he knew and to know he knows are beasts of a different breed. It would be disgusting on its own; it is much worse knowing that, tomorrow, Mark will become inextricably tied to the man for the rest of his life, someone he can never trust.

“But it’s the right time now,” Mark tells the wall. “There’s no reason to think that I won’t conceive tomorrow night.”

A moment passes between them. Yugyeom would say something, but there’s a certain tension in the air that tells him the pause is the anticipatory sort. Mark isn’t done, so Yugyeom stares at his profile, waits, and doesn’t breathe.

“Unless, of course, I conceive tonight.”

And now he can’t breathe. He coughs and swallows at the same time, chokes—which produces a sound like a cat hacking up a hairball—and then finally manages to inhale.

Mark gives no indication that he heard, though he must have. He twists so that he’s lying on his back, head tilted up by the pillow, and Yugyeom can see his face properly for the first time in the past hour. Mark’s cheeks are a lovely blood-infused rose, his lips redder still, and his black eyes, glistening under the thousand lights of the star map, fixed on Yugyeom.

“Yugyeom,” Mark says, and his voice is low suddenly, quiet enough that Yugyeom nearly walks closer to hear it. “You’re Type A, aren’t you?”

Mark knows the answer already, and Yugyeom knows he knows. They both know what it is Mark’s really asking, but Yugyeom can’t quite believe it. He is fairly certain his heart has stopped and all the blood has drained from his head.

“Yes,” he croaks.

The quality of his voice wakes him up. He shakes himself, tears his eyes away from Mark’s face, and forces himself to say, “I think that’s a bad idea.”

“You think what’s a bad idea?”

Yugyeom considers this more deeply than he should. It certainly doesn’t seem like a bad idea: Mark’s lips opening for his tongue, Mark’s arms opening to clutch at his back, Mark’s legs opening… But the marriage. Yes, the marriage. Yugyeom would be imprisoned for a very long time if anyone found out. Maybe killed. And Mark is so very drunk.

“Yugyeom?”

When he doesn’t respond, Mark slides off the bed and steps over to him. “What’s a bad idea, Yugyeom?”

It’s so very hard to think when he keeps saying Yugyeom’s name, and when he keeps getting closer. Underneath the sharp scent of the alcohol, Yugyeom can smell the shampoo and laundry detergent that Mark uses, and his mouth is only getting drier. “You… and me. It’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Do I sound drunk?”

He doesn’t. His words are perfectly articulated, but he would never have said them were he sober.

At Yugyeom’s silence, Mark stops. He’s two feet away, the space between them filled only with air and heat. Yugyeom could grab him, could have him against his body in a matter of milliseconds. Mark, who has never been within reach, is so very close now. He has offered himself for the taking. It would be so easy to take.

“You don’t want me?” Mark’s eyes stay fixed on Yugyeom, steadily sucking his thoughts away. It is impossibly cruel. Mark knows. Mark has to know that Yugyeom wants him. And he has to know what it would mean for Yugyeom to take him.

A flicker of movement lures Yugyeom’s gaze away from Mark’s face to his hands, which are rising now. They pause at the base of Mark’s throat, barely brushing the fabric of his collar, and then they begin to slip the buttons loose.

Yugyeom swallows the flood of saliva. The aftertaste of blood reminds him that he shouldn’t look, that he should close his eyes or back up or leave entirely. But he knows that, if he moves at all, it won’t be away. All he can do is stay perfectly still and watch as each contortion of Mark’s fingers reveals a new stretch of pallid skin. Yugyeom isn’t sure if he’s imagining the blue lattice of veins woven just beneath the surface or if Mark’s skin is really that thin, but it hardly matters. The impression is that of the porcelain bowl: fragile, glowing.

“I could have been wrong,” Mark says, “but I thought…”

He undoes the last button, and Yugyeom holds his breath again, waiting for Mark to slip the shirt off his arms and shoulders, waiting for Mark to show him exactly what he could have if he let himself reach for it.

But Mark doesn’t. He leaves the shirt hanging there, covering all but the one line of skin.

“I thought you wanted this,” he instead says, forcing Yugyeom’s gaze back to his eyes. “I thought I saw you looking once, months ago, and then I tried to give you opportunities to look, to be sure… And you always did. I thought maybe you even liked me. But I could have been wrong.”

“Why?” Yugyeom asks, though he’s not sure Mark will be able to understand. His voice is so cracked it’s barely recognizable. “What did I do?” Even if the words are distinguishable, he’s not sure the meaning is. _Why are you putting me through this?_ he wants to ask. _What did I do wrong?_

Mark takes a step closer. There’s only one foot between them now, and Yugyeom can count Mark’s eyelashes, can trace every microscopic crease in his lips.

“You did everything I ever asked you to do,” Mark says. “Everything. So I’m going to ask you for one more thing.” He pauses, and they stare at each other. “I want it to be you. When I find out something else is living inside me, I want to know it’s you.”

Yugyeom has never thought about having children, has never had the slightest desire to be a father, but he desperately wants what Mark is offering. The idea that something of his own would grow inside Mark, would turn him soft and round… now that he’s thought it, the need to make it happen is hot and all-consuming.

He extends a hand, but it shivers in the air between them, unable to make the final, irreversible jump. He watches Mark’s eyes cross to fix on it, watches him shift his shoulders so that the shirt slips further open, watches the tiny shifts in the muscles of Mark’s now exposed abdomen. In his mind, he can see it swell. Mark will leave, but, in a fashion, Yugyeom will still be there, closer than ever. Unforgettable.

In the present, he watches Mark step forward, and Yugyeom’s raised hand, suspended in air just a moment ago, suddenly finds itself pressing into the soft spot just beneath Mark’s sternum. The skin is satin-like and hot. And it belongs to Mark.

Yugyeom doesn’t forget that Mark is drunk. He doesn’t forget that there are two powerful noble families who will rip him limb from limb if they ever find out. He doesn’t forget that Mark is about to leave his side forever. He doesn’t forget anything, but, with his hand on Mark’s stomach, none of it seems important. Jaebum might be right that he’s an idiot, but he also doesn’t think anyone can reasonably expect him to fight evolution. When push comes to shove, reproduction overrides reason.

His fingers curl into Mark’s skin, and, without any direction from his brain, his other arm darts around Mark’s back and pulls him in. Chest to chest, stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh. Yugyeom has only ever kissed one person before, but he finds that he isn’t embarrassed to lick at Mark’s mouth. As long as they are close, as long as Yugyeom can feel and taste him, the specifics don’t much matter. He puts his mouth everywhere he can reach—cheeks, jaw, neck, shoulders—shoving Mark’s shirt all the way off as he does so. His hands grab and squeeze indiscriminately—elbow, bicep, hip, shoulder. When one happens to land on Mark’s ass, he leaves it there.

Mark, at first, seemed to be trying to impose some order on the proceedings, hands kneading Yugyeom’s back in a consistent rhythm, twisting so that Yugyeom’s mouth touched down below rather than above his ear. But he must give up after a minute, give in to Yugyeom’s unrelenting onslaught because he no longer seems to be making any attempt to direct where Yugyeom’s tongue goes, and, the one time Yugyeom happened to pull back far enough to see Mark’s face, he was smiling.

“Is there any chance you’d slow down?” Mark asks.

“Absolutely not,” Yugyeom manages between kissing Mark’s shoulder and his sternum. To emphasize the point, he wraps his arms under Mark’s thighs and hoists him off the ground.

Mark laughs, the sound half breathless, and latches his legs around Yugyeom’s hips. “This might be the least sexy sex I’ve ever had,” he says, but he sounds oddly pleased, so Yugyeom won’t take offense. “Take me to the bed. You’re going to drop me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Yugyeom says. “Ever.” But he has no objections to taking Mark to bed.

 

 

Yugyeom wakes up to the familiar low hiss of the water pipes that wind beneath the floor. Jaebum always complained about it back before he got promoted, when he still worked for Mark, but Yugyeom likes it; it makes the starbase sound alive.

He’s lying on his stomach, cheek pressed into a pillow that is soft and warm and scented like Mark’s shampoo. Mark’s bed, he remembers. He wiggles his right arm out from beneath him and stretches it out across the mattress, searching, but all he finds are sheets.

The rush of the water suddenly sounds too loud; he can’t hear if anyone else is breathing in the room. He rolls over and sits up, letting his vision spin.

The room is empty. The lights are on their dimmest daylight setting, the walls more gray than blue, and the mattress beside him is temperatureless beneath his fingers. He grips it, pulling. He’s not sure what he expected. The abalone-faced clock atop the wardrobe reads 9:30. Mark has been gone for hours. By now, he’s not even in the same solar system.

Somehow, Yugyeom thought he would say goodbye. For Mark, he supposes, last night was goodbye, but Yugyeom hadn’t know. He would have been gentler if he’d known. He would have tried to be sweet rather than needy. He would have… Something.

A glint in the sheets catches his eye. It’s around the vicinity of his knee, and he bends forward to feel for it. It’s small and hard beneath his fingertips, and, when he gets ahold of it and lifts it to his face, he recognizes it as one of the diamonds from the star map. It must have come loose and fallen sometime last night. Now it glints coolly between Yugyeom’s thumb and forefinger.

He should take it to the duchess. Or to the maintenance center. They would have a man in before lunch to glue it back where it belongs. But Yugyeom already knows he won’t do either of those things. If he’s caught, there will be consequences, but stealing a star seems a small crime in face of his recent transgressions.

Maybe, far in the future, he can have it cut to fit a ring. He tries to find the thought amusing, but he’s never been a cynic, and it’s hard to deceive himself. He takes a breath, closes his fist around the diamond, and goes to collect his clothes.

An hour later, when he’s cleaned everything and set it back in place, he emerges into the corridor and finds himself staring at the same spot against the wall where Jaebum stood only a week ago. The diamond sits heavy in his pocket, and Yugyeom can hear the echo of Jaebum’s words ghosting through the corridor’s air.

_The stars burn._

_Idiots never learn._

Adages are much easier to apply in retrospect, but still Yugyeom can’t pinpoint where it was he went wrong. He thinks, if he were sent back in time to a month ago, even a year, he would still end up here, in this empty corridor, waiting for something that will probably never happen.

**Author's Note:**

> The phrase, “The wise learn from history; idiots learn from their mistakes,” is a rewording of one of Otto von Bismarck’s famous quotes. The one about the stars is, to the extent of my knowledge, not a thing.


End file.
